


A History of Mushrooms in Medicine

by thericketandoo



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Culmets - Freeform, Early Days, M/M, Missing Scene, space boos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-14 14:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13591908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thericketandoo/pseuds/thericketandoo
Summary: Mushrooms have long been known for their medicinal properties. Herein contains a series of vignettes on the subject.





	1. Part I - Coriolus Versicolor

**Part I - Coriolus Versicolor (Aids digestion, helps heal infection, and treats the common cold and flu.)**

****

Two weeks after Paul Stamets finally convinced his partner and fellow Starfleet officer Hugh Culber to move in with him, and one week after settling in, Hugh comes home one evening to an intoxicating array of smells. Setting his work things aside, and hanging his coat in the entry closet, he follows his nose to the kitchen.

“You... cook?” Hugh stops short of entering the doorway, eyebrows raised in amusement as he watches his partner skillfully flip the contents of a pan on the open flame of their stove top.

“Did you think I picked a place with a stove for that vintage feel?” Paul asks, holding back a gloating smile as he glances over his shoulder, beckoning Hugh closer with a nod. It’s not often he surprises Hugh.

“You’re one of the pickiest eaters I’ve ever met.”

“So it would make sense to cook my own food then, wouldn’t it?" Paul smirks. "I know what I like."

“Where did you get all these- These are fresh vegetables, aren’t they?” Hugh asks, mildly impressed as he looks over a pile of delicately chopped carrots prepped off to the side.

“There’s a farmer’s market near the main plaza, and yes. Only the best for you. Also, my mother had an extreme distaste for replicated food.”

“Of course she did,” Hugh smiles, not unkindly.

“Not in a pretentious way,” Paul frowns. “She liked getting her hands dirty. She enjoyed the imperfections of things naturally grown.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” Hugh jokes, pulling a spoon out of drawer, and dipping it into a red sauce in another pan on the stove.

“Excuse you,” Paul says with mock indignation, watching Hugh steal a taste. “I’m the closest to perfect _thing_ she ever grew.”

“I wish I could have met her.”

“She would have loved you.”

 

~

 

Paul thinks it’s better, maybe, that his mother wasn’t alive at the start of the war. She never wanted him in Starfleet anyways. _“If it’s just a science mission, why are they teaching you to fire guns?”_ She would ask, knowing the answer was not the excuse Paul would give her. Starfleet offered Paul seemingly endless resources when it came to his research, and for that alone it was worth it to him. _“Everyone has to learn the basics, Mom, but I’m never going to be out of a lab. You don’t have to worry about me."_ She worried anyways.

 

~

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hugh asks, setting his toothbrush back in its charger.

Paul shakes his head.

“I’m here, if you change your mind.”

Paul nods at the floor as a heavy silence falls between them.

After a beat, Paul lifts his gaze to meet Hugh's, a twinge of confusion on his brows. “What does it say about me if I don’t feel anything?”

Hugh places a comforting hand on Paul’s shoulder. “You’re still processing. You might not know what you’re feeling just yet.”

“We were research partners for over a decade, Hugh," Paul huffs, annoyed more with himself than his partner. "There would be stretches of time where he would be the only person I’d see for days- _weeks_ , even. I’d probably spent more time with Straal collectively than I have with you. I should feel something.”

“Paul, you have to give yourself time.”

“But we don’t have time, Hugh. Isn’t that just it?" Paul fumes, but a sympathetic gaze from Hugh quickly brings him down. "That whole crew is dead, and we barely had enough time to grab what we needed and run. What about their families? What about their bodies? Don’t they deserve better?”

“They do,” Hugh nods understandingly.

“But this is war, right? Just onto the next battle like nothing ever happened.”

Hugh sighs.

“You know what, fuck Lorca, and fuck Starfleet! My friend is dead and I’m too fucking desensitized to mourn him.”

 

~

 

Hugh emerges from under the covers, and props his head up on his hand, giving his partner a proud once-over as he rubs his other hand on Paul’s exposed chest. He smirks watching Paul catch his breath as the last of his orgasm courses through him.

When Paul finally opens his eyes again, still panting, he rolls over to gently pull his partner into a kiss of gratitude. Paul pulls back enough to meet Hugh’s eyes, and catches the slightest look of guilt.

“You’re being… overly nice,” Paul says with a cautious smile.

“I’m always overly nice with you,” Hugh grins, diverting his eyes to Paul’s chest.

“Kinder than I deserve, you mean?” Paul squints.

“Perhaps... lately.”

Paul’s eyebrows creep up his forehead. “Lately?”

“You’ve been... extremely difficult since you found out about the _Discovery_.”

Paul almost laughs. “So… you thought I needed a morning blowjob before you head to work?”

Hugh raises his eyebrows. “Are you complaining?”

“ _No_ , I’m confused,” Paul corrects, “And I know you’re running behind now.”

Hugh grimaces, glancing at the clock beside their bed, and straightens up.

Paul frowns. It's more clear now than ever that Hugh's up to something. “Hugh, what did you do?”

“I had a conversation with the Admiral-“

Paul’s eyes widen slightly. “You mean you _mother_?”

“Yes, I mean my mother, Paul, and she-”

“Please tell me the _Discover_ y is cancelled, and we get to stay here in San Francisco.” He’s almost hopeful.

“No, Paul.”

“Then what?”

“Will you let me finish?” Hugh snaps.

“Sorry.”

“... I got myself a transfer.”

“You what?!” Paul sits up, his face a mixture of anger and confusion.

“Paul,” Hugh says gently, placing a hand on Paul’s knee. “There’s no way in Hell they are going to pull out of the Spore Drive project.”

Paul jerks his knee away. “Hugh, the ship is highly experimental.”

Hugh frowns. “And I could also benefit from that highly competitive environment.”

“You could also _die_ , Hugh.”

“So could you, Paul.”

Paul looks away, resisting the urge to pout. He sighs. “Yes, but I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“None of us do, but why should I stay here when I could be of use there?” Hugh asks, reaching out, and placing a hand on the back of Paul’s neck.

“Because you’re safe here,” Paul says weakly, glancing back over to Hugh.

“For now. The war will make it here soon enough.”

Paul tries to sound confident. “Not if the Spore Drive is successful.”

“Paul, I know how you work. You’ll starve to death trying to push that drive to its limits.”

“Is that what you told Starfleet?” Paul asks bitterly.

“Of course not,” Hugh reassures, holding his partner’s face in his hands. “ _Discovery_ has one of the most advanced medical bays in the fleet. I could do so much more out there for Starfleet than I can here on earth.”

“For the war, you mean,” Paul pouts, giving in.

“If that’s what they heard then fine.”

Paul takes Hugh’s hands from his face and holds them in his own, gazing at him imploringly. “It’s a demotion for you.”

Hugh gives Paul's hands a squeeze. “It’s still a good career choice. Chances for promotion are higher on ships.”

Paul looks away again, loosening his grip on Hugh’s hands. “Because more people die on ships.”

Hugh shakes his head a little. “We know what we signed up for when we joined Starfleet.”

“We did _not_ sign up for this war,” Paul corrects, “and _you_ sound like your mother.”

“She doesn’t want me to go either,” Hugh sighs.

“Your mother is a smart woman.”

 

~

 

“Computer, did I receive any messages while I was out?” Paul asks, tossing his sopping wet bag and coat on the nearest chair, and grabbing a PADD from his kitchen table as he plops down in a different chair to remove his soaked shoes.

“You have a voice message from Doctor Hugh Culber.”

“A what?” Paul squints. _Why wouldn’t Hugh just call me directly?_

“A voice message from Doc-“

“Play the message- Wait.” Was Paul forgetting something important? Was Hugh angry about something? “ _Shit_. Why the fuck did he leave a message here? Shit. Shit. _Shit_!” Paul rips his wet socks off, kicking them out of the way as he shuffles over to the sink to wash his hands.

“Computer, play the message.”

“Hey, Paul," Hugh's voice chimes in, overly casual in tone. "I’m not mad.”

Paul sighs bitterly. “Then why the hell-“

“I knew you’d be out all afternoon, and I’ll be busy until the evening, so I wanted to get this out of the way. As you may have heard, my mom is getting a promotion, so we’re throwing a little Culber Family get together… tonight. I want you to be there.”

“No.”

“Before you say no, know that I told my mom you’d be there.”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding m-“

“And yes, I checked to make sure you’d be free.” Hugh lets out an audible sigh. “I can’t make you come, but I’d really like you to. It’s very informal. Casual clothing. Please don’t wear your dress uniform.”

“Thank you for clarifying what casual is with the _Admiral_ ,” Paul scoffs.

“My sisters will be there, too, but you’ve met Alicia already. Her husband will be there as well. No kids, so don’t worry about that."

“Oh, well in that case-“ Paul starts sarcastically.

“I… have to get back to work. Please call me when you get a moment. Love you.”

Paul drags his hands down his face. “I must love you too if I’m willingly subjecting myself to a casual dinner with your mother, Hugh.”

“Oh, and I hope you didn’t forget your umbrella today. See you soon, babe.”

 

 


	2. Part II - Ganoderma Lucidum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reishi.

**Part II - Ganoderma Lucidum (Cure seasonal allergies, stress less, and sleep better.)**

****

 

“You can put your shirt back on. I’m finished.”

“Thank you for your permission, Doctor,” Paul says dryly. This would have been a perfect opportunity for sex joke if they weren’t in sickbay on the _Discovery_ where they were supposed to behave professionally. Not that Paul is one for public displays of affection, but a little innuendo now and then keeps Hugh on his toes.

Hugh is distracted anyway, going over his notes on Paul’s chart while wondering how many more times he’ll have to heal these spore chamber-inflicted injuries.

“Does the connection have to be through your chest like it is now?”

Paul pulls his black undershirt over his head and narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What are you getting at?”

Hugh stops himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m just trying to figure out if we can make interfacing with the spore drive easier on you.”

“You mean with less bodily harm and blood?” Paul smiles, perhaps too calmly.

“I’d like to keep your blood inside your body, yes,” Hugh grimaces, watching his partner’s mood change before his eyes. He notes it on Paul’s chart.

Paul’s gaze shifts to the PADD in Hugh’s hands as his bites back the tiniest of smiles. “I don’t think it has to be needles in my chest, no. What were you thinking?”

Hugh taps the PADD until it opens a series of interfacing design ideas and hands it to Paul. “I was thinking maybe something on your forearms so you can keep your uniform on.”

Now, Paul can’t stop himself. “That’s never been an issue for you before.”

Hugh’s eyes meet Paul’s just long enough to both acknowledge Paul’s intent and stop it in its tracks. He lowers his tone as he moves to stand closer to Paul, opening up a 3D model of a forearm-placed cybernetic implant on the computer screen nearest the them.

“Then let’s not make it one, so I don’t have to share you with the whole of engineering.”

 

~

 

“Stamets? Is that you?” Straal calls out from his desk, glancing up from his work station.

“Who else would it be?” Paul mumbles as he enters the lab, dropping his pack on the floor.

“I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Where else would I go?” Paul snaps at Straal, glaring.

“I just thought… I mean… “ Straal couldn’t bring himself to finish.

“You thought because my mother died I wouldn’t come in today?”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Paul mocks, “This is all I have now. This, and I guess you. There’s nothing for me anywhere else but in this lab.”

“Okay, forget I said anything. I won’t bring it up again… unless you want to talk-“

“I don’t.”

“Alright. Should we… I was going to start analyzing the next round of samples.”

Paul nods briskly, and heads toward his work station on the opposite side of their lab. “Great. Send them to my desk.”

“Hey, Paul?”

Paul stops, but doesn’t look back at Straal.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

 

~

If she hadn’t insisted on living in some rural, underpopulated area of Northern Michigan, she’d still be alive. Maybe if he had called more often? No, visited more often. She wasn’t even sick. There’s no reason. She shouldn’t have had to die alone. Why hadn’t he been there for her? Why couldn’t he have saved her? He could have prevented this. He knows he could have stopped this.

~

 

“Alright, Cadet Tilly, I’m all finished.”

“That was quick! Well, much quicker than the one I got at the Academy before they sent me out here.”

Hugh laughs. “Let me guess, Dr. Muriel?”

“Have you worked with her before?”

“Oh yes. She’s nothing if not thorough.”

“I can only imagine what she’s like to work with.”

“How’s-“ Hugh starts the sentence before he remembers he’s talking to a cadet- “Engineering… treating you?”

“You mean Lieutenant Stamets?”

“Yes,” Hugh replies, embarrassed.

“It’s an honor to work with him, and I’m learning so much _way_ faster than I did at the Academy, so obviously I can’t complain.”

“But?”

Sylvia hesitates.

“You don’t have to answer, but I promise I won’t tell him what you’ve told me.”

“But… he’s not very good at giving feedback. If someone makes a mistake he’s more likely to fix it passive aggressively to avoid a confrontation than actually allow his crew to learn from their mistakes.”

“I can’t imagine Lieutenant Stamets avoiding confrontation.”

“Oh, well, we all know he’s angry, he just doesn’t direct it at anyone specifically.”

“Have you brought this up with him?”

“You’re kidding right?” Sylvia laughs.

Hugh raises an eyebrow.

“Oh god, you’re not, I’m sorry. _No_ , I haven’t. Am I supposed to? I mean, is that even appropriate?”

“Your file says you have interest in the command program, so I think it’s important that, in the right context, you talk to your superiors about issues you may have noticed.”

“I can’t imagine that going over well with Lieutenant Stamets.”

“You’d be surprised how much he appreciates honesty. Not to say he’ll take your criticism to heart, or even entertain the notion of a cadet having any sort of insight whatsoever, but having the conversation would be good practice.”

“You seem to know him pretty well,” Sylvia laughs, “you must be good friends.”

“You could say that.”

 

~

 

“Do you want to move in together?”

The utterly nonchalant way in which Paul Stamets asks Hugh Culber to move in with him nearly knocks him over.

Paul turns around to look over at Hugh, holding a glass of some unnaturally green liquid fresh from the replicator in Paul’s lab.

“Did you hear me? I think it would make sense if we moved in together, now that you’re working at the Academy.”

“No, I heard you the first time,” Hugh says, staring at Paul and wondering at what point the body snatchers had taken over.

“And?”

“We’ve been dating for six months, Paul.”

“Is that a no?”

Hugh can’t tell if Paul is disappointed or confused.

“Paul, don’t you think it’s a little premature?”

“Obviously not if I’m asking you,” Paul frowns into his glass, failing miserably at hiding his growing frustration.

“You don’t think this is a big deal, do you?” Hugh asks more seriously.

“It isn’t. We’re not teenagers. Cohabitation isn’t some incredible feat only the most prepared individuals can survive. If it works, great. If it doesn’t, that’s fine, too.”

The mixture of emotions on Hugh’s face are impossible for Paul to decipher, but he knows he’s misjudged the situation.

“Hugh, I’m not saying it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Please clarify for me what you think it means because I think we’re on completely different wavelengths.”

“I didn’t need six months to know that we share something… unique.”

Hugh shakes his head slightly in disbelief. “Try that again.”

 _God, he sounds like his mother._ “No. I mean, yes. Sorry. This is… embarrassingly difficult with you glaring at me.”

Hugh’s expression softens, and he’s a little embarrassed himself. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

Paul pulls out a chair and sits across from Hugh, setting his glass on the table. “I know I’m a difficult person to be with seventy-five percent of the time. Yes, I do know that. Don’t raise your eyebrows at me.”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” Hugh laughs. “Please, keep going.”

“You-“ Paul purses his lips, frustrated with himself. He takes a deep breath and starts again. “Three months ago, after that terribly awkward dinner with your family-“

“Give yourself more credit,” Hugh says sincerely.

“I wanted to crawl into a crater on the moon and never come out. Point is, after that dinner, and spending an evening questioning whether or not I possessed the ability to hold a casual conversation with a lamppost, I found myself thinking, ‘I wish I could spend every night with this man, even if it meant being grilled about my Starfleet record by his mother.’”

“I still can’t believe she did that,” Hugh laughs, shaking his head.

“Oh, I can, and she did, but Hugh,” Paul says more seriously, “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who’s worth all of that, and you constantly show me that you must think I’m worth it, too. I can’t even remember the last time someone was willing to put up with me this long.”

Hugh beams, genuinely touched. “You are worth it, Paul, and you’re not nearly as difficult as you think you are. Maybe only fifty percent difficult.”

“Damn, I really need to step up my game then,” Paul jokes.

“Well, if we spend fifty-percent more time together by, as you said, ‘cohabitating’, you might end up proving me wrong.”

“Is… that your way of saying, ‘Yes, I’ll move in with you?’”

“I’m considering it.”

“Hugh, will you please move in with me?”

“I sing in the shower.”

“Only if you’re _alone_ in the shower,” Paul smirks.

“I wake up at 5 AM to run every single day.”

“You won’t bother me,” Paul assures, “I’m a surprisingly heavy sleeper.”

“I know, and sometimes you snore,” Hugh says, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess you’ll have to wake me up then,” Paul shrugs.

“I’m worried all these spores are getting to your brain,” Hugh says jokingly.

“Please move in with me, Hugh,” Paul pleads, sounding less desperate than he feels.

“Okay.”

Paul’s eyes widen with hope. “Okay?”

“Yes, I’ll move in with you,” Hugh smiles.

Paul pulls Hugh into a kiss - unintentionally sloppy at first, due to Paul’s excitement, but they ease into it.

“I love you,” Paul grins, once they finally pull apart.

“I love you, too, Paul.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 down, 3 to go. As always, feedback is pretty great. Special thanks to Kay, whom I don't know how to tag, and who helped me find all the mistakes I made. See y'all later!


	3. Part III - Ophiocordyceps Sinensis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cordyceps.

**Part III - Ophiocordyceps Sinensis (Perform better, both athletically and in bed, increase energy, and alleviate asthma and bronchitis.)**

****

“Hugh, am I getting old?”

Hugh laughs. “What are you really asking me?”

Paul squints at his reflection in their mirror, pushing back his hair to examine his hairline. “Cadet Tilly, you’ve met her, right?”

“I have. Curly red hair. Nervous talker, but incredibly smart. Maybe smarter than you,” Hugh smirks.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Paul says flatly. “Cadet Tilly made three references yesterday to holo-novels I’ve never even heard of.”

“Paul, it’s not as though you’ve ever been big on pop culture in general.”

“Ensign Meyer, of all people, knew what she was referring to.”

“Well, maybe you should leave your lab more often,” Hugh teases, hand brushing purposefully across the curve of Paul’s ass as he leaves the bathroom.

Paul straightens up, turning around to watch Hugh as he beckons him to their bed.

“If you _are_ getting old,” Hugh smirks, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, “It should be obvious that I don’t mind.”

“I don’t know,” Paul frowns jokingly, “You might have to prove it to me. I’m needy like that.”

“Then why are you still standing there? Get over here.”

 

~

It was strange for Hugh, watching Paul interact with his family. Hugh never had the opportunity to meet Paul’s mother, Sylvia Stamets, microbiologist and hater of replicated food, but he felt like he knew her through Paul. The way he could talk so passionately about all the beautiful things in the universe in one moment, and ‘talk shop’ with his Hugh’s mother in the next had to have come from somewhere.

Hugh’s own family was close, what with him and his sisters being relatively close in age, and his father being home almost completely full-time during their childhoods, it wasn’t difficult to believe, but for Paul it seemed almost baffling. Still, Hugh loved watching Paul slowly open himself up more and more to the Culber family, even if at times it seemed torturous to him. It gave Hugh hope for their futures.

~

 

“Mama! Mama! Look what I found!” Paul yells excitedly as he climbs over the low fence of their backyard.

Sylvia Stamets steps out to her back porch, hair long and braided, and places her hands on her hips expectantly. “Nothing poisonous, I hope- Watch your pants on that fence!”

“Grifola frondosa,” Paul beams, pulling a large, ruffled mushroom out of his shoulder bag and holding it up for his mother.

“Hen of the Woods,” Sylvia beams. “Good job, Paulie.”

“Mama,” Paul scowls, “Don’t call me that, please! I’m almost nine!”

“I named you, so I’ll call you whatever I want,” she says stubbornly. “Did you feed the chickens?”

Paul looks away as he pretends to try to remember what he knows he didn’t do. “Um… I’ll go now!”

“No, you won’t because I already did!” His mother glares sternly.

“I brought us dinner!” Paul smiles uneasily.

“And the chickens get to starve, is that right?”

“Mama, I told you I could help you make a chicken feeder, and you’d never have to worry-“

“Paul, I know I could make a chicken feeder and a bee keeper and a whole other mess of tech nonsense that we don’t need out here, but I don’t want that. I just want my son to remember to do his chores every once and a while. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, Mama,” Paul sighs guiltily, staring at the ground as he digs the tip of his boot in the wet soil.

“Get inside and clean yourself up. You’re going to cook dinner tonight."

 

~

 

“If by father you mean the person whose sperm made it possible for me to exist, then yes, I know him, he’s not dead or anything. My mother was my father though. Not that man.”

“You don’t want to meet him?” Straal asks, setting down his sandwich as he watches Paul comb through their last batch of data as it scrolls across the view screen in front of him.

“Oh I’ve met him, but I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“I just mean, now that your mother’s gone-”

Paul turns to face Straal, biting back a frown. “My mother gave that man an option to be involved in my life, and he chose otherwise. I don’t see why her death would change any of that.”

“I- uh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine. Also, we need to recalibrate the sensors on scanner 4. All of its data has the same error.”

“I’m on it!” Straal, eager for a reason to pull himself out of their conversation, jumps up and gets to work, neglecting the rest of his lunch.

 

~

 

“Did you know there’s a _party_ here tomorrow?” Paul asks, plopping himself down in a chair across from Hugh in _Discovery_ ’s mess hall.

Hugh nearly drops his fork, startled by Paul’s arrival. “I thought you were-”

“I left Tilly and Meyer to work on the modifications to the spore chamber, _as per your specifications_ , so I could sneak out and meet you for lunch,” Paul grins.

“How nice,” Hugh smiles, slightly uncomfortable. He’s not sure he’s ever going to get used to his new ‘spore enhanced’ partner, but he’s trying.

“So the party, did you know about it?”

“I did, yes,” Hugh nods, going back to eating his food.

“But you’re not going?”

“I volunteered to work.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to go alone.”

“You could have asked me!”

Hugh gives Paul a flat look. “Really? You hate parties.”

“I would have gone for you,” Paul smiles.

“And you would have complained the entire time,” Hugh replies, shaking his head. His eyes catch a glimpse of Paul’s plate, and his jaw drops. “Are you eating a Caesar salad?”

Paul nods, mildly confused by Hugh’s tone.

“You hate everything about Caesar salad.”

“Tastes change,” Paul shrugs, taking a bite.

Hugh watches Paul eat for a moment, trying to decide whether he ought to take him to sickbay immediately for testing, or revel in the fact that the man he loves may actually be trying new foods.

“Stop gawking,” Paul frowns.

“Sorry, I’m just having a personal crisis over that fact that you, Paul Stamets, are sitting right across from me and _willingly_ eating a Caesar salad. A salad you once described as ‘everything that’s wrong with salads’ for having the audacity to have anchovies in the dressing.” Hugh narrows his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not pregnant.”

“Don’t even joke about that. That’s not possible,” Paul grimaces, looking as though he might need reassurance.

Hugh laughs, and shakes his head. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me about your research.”

“No.”

Hugh sighs, smiling a little as the Paul he recognizes shines through. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to go to the party tomorrow?”

“Positive.”

“Good,” Hugh nods. “That will give us plenty of time to install your new cybernetic enhancements.”

“Oh _joy_.”

 

~

 

Paul is not athletic, which Hugh knew when he agreed to go on a hike near where Paul grew up in northern Michigan, but what hadn’t occurred to him was that this would be less of a hike and more of a hunt. A mushroom hunt, to be precise. Still, Hugh wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to have Paul alone for any period of time, especially when there’s something he’s been wanting to discuss.

“How many mushrooms do we need?” Hugh asks, watching as Paul picks up yet another morel and places it in his bag.

“We don’t need any of these, I suppose. Do you want to go back?”

Hugh blinks, shocked by Paul’s momentary intuitiveness.

“Let’s go back.”

“Paul, wait, before we do, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk about.”

Paul’s grip on his bag tightens. _He’s breaking up with me. He fucking hates mushrooms. Why the fuck did I think-_

“Have you ever thought about raising children?”

Paul needs a moment to reset his brain before responding. “I knew there was a reason you came out here with me willingly.”

“Well, you’ve been artfully avoiding the topic since we moved in together. I had to seize the moment.”

“Now is… “ Paul gazes longingly up the path, formulating an exit strategy. “Not that moment.”

“Paul, I just want to know how you honestly feel.”

Paul turns back to Hugh, narrowing his eyes. “Right now I feel like I’ve been tricked.”

“I thought we were going on a hike,” Hugh deadpans.

“Touché.”

“Why is this so difficult for you to talk about?”

“Because if we don’t have matching opinions on the subject our relationship ends.”

“Paul, I’m not going to leave you just because you do or don’t want children.”

“You say that _now_ , but we’re not kids. We’re in our late 30s and not getting any younger-”

“Paul.”

“-but I just don’t know if I’m ready to say how I feel one way or the other because I’m so fucking happy right now, and I don’t want to lose that.”

Hugh smiles sympathetically. “I want kids, but I’m also not sure I want the lifestyle that goes along with raising a family. I’m also very happy with where we’re at right now.”

“... So you’re not sure what you want either?”

Hugh nods.

“And you were hoping that maybe my feelings on the subject would help solidify yours?”

“Perhaps.”

Paul nods a little, feeling himself relax. “You _would_ be a good Dad.”

The sentiment catches Hugh off guard. “I hope so, but I think I’m also happy with only being an uncle.”

“You _think_?” Paul asks, not quite convinced.

“For now, at least,” Hugh smiles sincerely.

The worry on Paul’s face sticks. “What happens if that changes, and I’m not there with you?”

“You’re here with me now,” Hugh reassures.

“Surrounded by mushrooms,” Paul gestures at the forest around them.

“I know _that_ will never change,” Hugh laughs.

“Would you want it to?”

“No,” Hugh beams, “I love things just the way they are.”

Paul lets himself breathe again, and acknowledges Hugh with a brisk nod. He holds out his hand for Hugh to take. “For now,” he smiles.

Hugh takes his hand. “For now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is little. Next one is bigger. I'm not gonna pretend I don't love feedback. Oh, if you like moody playlists, check out this sad Culmets one I made [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/128391505/playlist/0oWRPhU7PQKTxc4NLbAjUA). Thanks again to Kay for beta-ing this thing. Peace out.


	4. Part IV - Inonotus Obliquus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaga.

**Part IV - Inonotus Obliquus (Ward off the common cold, improve hair and skin, and lower inflammation caused by stress.)**

****

 

Cadet Tilly glances up from her station as Lieutenant Stamets steps back into main engineering from Discovery’s spore lab. Their meet eyes long enough for his worried expression to confirm the worst.

“Any luck?” Tilly asks, still trying to remain hopeful.

Stamets shakes his head and moves over to the spore chamber’s main console to check their remaining spore supply.

Tilly watches Stamets’ expression twist into something more pained as he looks over his screen.

“We should have enough harvested spores to get home if the numbers I had earlier were correct,” Tilly says as confidently as she can muster, walking over to stand beside her superior officer.

Stamets gives Tilly a quick glance of acknowledgement before looking back at his screen.

They stand in awkward silence as Tilly searches for the right words. “Paul-er, Sir?”

 _Paul? What are we Terrans now?_ “Not now, Cadet.”

“It’s just everything’s been so crazy, and no one’s even asked if you’re okay, but maybe it’s because there’s so much to process-“

“We don’t have time right now,” Paul says briskly, trying to focus on anything else besides Cadet Tilly.

“You’re obviously not okay. How could you possibly be okay?”

It takes all of Paul's willpower not to snap at Tilly. Taking a deep breath, he turns to face her. “This ship needs _us_ to get home. This crew needs _me_ to get home. If I start-“ Paul swallows the pain threatening to take over him. “If I start I’m not going to be able to stop, and we don’t have time. There will come a time, but not now.”

Tilly swallows guiltily, and nods. “Yes, sir.”

Paul nods back at her, and turns back to his work. “Start running simulations. See if we can’t figure out how to get the most out of what spores we have left.”

“On it.”

“Tilly?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Thank you.”

 

~

 

“Watch where you’re going!” Paul yells at a distracted crewmen, seconds after colliding with them in the _Glenn’s_ engineering bay.

Around him scurry fifteen or so Starfleet officers putting the finishing touches on panels, familiarizing themselves with consoles, and moving containers of supplies around.

In the corner, Straal sits on the floor staring intently at a constant stream on code scrolling on the screen of his PADD. Straal shows his stress level by how quiet he gets, and how impossible it is to tear him away from his work. Paul is similar, but instead of getting quiet he gets easier to piss off.

“Will you get up and help me calibrate the sensors on _your_ spore delivery system?” Paul barks across the room at Straal.

Straal gives Paul a smug grin after he tears his gaze away from his PADD. “I didn’t think you’d need help after doing it on the _Discovery_ , but I guess-“

“Don’t be an ass, and just help me.”

Straal strides over, and gets to work on a cylinder two spaces down from the one Paul is working on, and gives him a sideways glance. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Paul, this is it. Everything we’ve been working for for the last, what, 10 years?”

“Eleven. Almost twelve.”

“Shit, that long?”

Paul glares at Straal. “Get to your point.”

“I know you don’t want us to be separated.”

Paul groans.

“But Starfleet’s right! We can do twice the amount of testing with _two_ ships.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my research partner?”

“Paul, we’re going to crack this.”

“I don’t know how you’re so confident.”

“I don’t understand how you’re not! Look around you. Look at what Starfleet has done for us. We have not one, but _two_ Crossfield class ships, built to our specifications with an endless supply of mycelium-“

“ _I_ have an endless supply. You have a cargo bay’s worth.”

“Which will be replenished monthly from our lab on earth via Starfleet.”

“And what happens when you get stranded in the Delta Quadrant and run out of spores?”

“The _Delta_ \- What’s this really about?” Straal frowns.

Paul gapes at Straal for a moment before gesturing to the engineering bay around him. “All of this. All of these _people_ are in _our_ hands. If something goes wrong it’s on us.”

“If something goes wrong enough I’ll be dead, so it won’t matter,” Straal says nonchalantly.

“This isn’t a joke, Straal,” Paul fumes. “There is a war going on and people are _dying_.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Straal snaps.

Paul grits his teeth angrily.

“These ships- our research might be the only thing that can end this war, and I’m not just saying that because Starfleet said that to us. I think it’s true.”

“I just… I don’t think it’s ready.”

It suddenly hits Straal. “This is about Hugh, isn’t it.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, this is about him being on the _Discovery_ with you, and you being worried that something will go wrong. Paul, look at me. It won’t. This is going to work.” Straal’s eyes look past Paul towards the doors of the engineering bay as a high-ranking Starfleet officer walks in. “Heads up, it’s your almost mother in law.”

“My who?!”

Straal stands up quickly to give Admiral Eliza Culber his full attention, and nudges Paul to do the same.

“Lieutenant Straal,” She smiles at him, and watches as Paul struggles to his feet. “Lieutenant Stamets.”

“Admiral Culber, I didn’t expect to see you all the way out here on Starbase One. How’s the educational commission?”

“I came for obvious reasons,” She says, ignoring Paul’s overly familiar question. “Lieutenant Straal, how are things progressing on the _Glenn_?”

“Quite well, Sir. We are on schedule for the launch tomorrow.”

“That’s good to hear. Is that the same for _Discovery_ , Lieutenant Stamets?”

“I-yes, of course, Sir, as far as my area is concerned.”

“I went looking for you over there, but obviously I couldn’t find you.”

“Sorry about that, Admiral. The Lieutenant and I have been working in tandem on both ships, making sure everything is as identical as possible… for science.”

“Understandable. Could I… speak to you for a moment, alone?”

“Yes, of course, Admiral.”

They walk through the corridors of the _Glenn_ for a moment, Paul trying to maintain his cool while Admiral Culber remains inexplicably calm.

“How confident are you that your Spore Drive will work, Lieutenant?”

“Sir?” Paul stops walking. “I’m not sure I can answer that.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s still theoretical. Sure, we’ve been given all of the bells and whistles, but besides extremely controlled experiments in our lab, we have no concrete proof that the Spore Drive will be able to perform as it’s intended.” Paul wouldn’t normally be so honest about his worries, but he’s certain Admiral Culber would see right through him if he lied.

Eliza raises her eyebrows in an expression not unlike one of Hugh’s. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for.”

“I’m sorry, Admiral,” Paul apologizes, his guilt obvious in his expression. “I wish I could give you the answers you want.”

“Paul?”

“... Yes?” Paul answers, recognizing Culber’s shift in tone.

“When Hugh came to me, asking if I’d help him get reassigned to _Discovery_ , I didn’t think anyone would agree to it. He had never asked me for a favor like that, and being my only _son_ , I obliged, but I secretly hoped he wouldn’t get his wish.”

“He… told me you weren’t so happy about him being here,” Paul grimaces.

“It’s not you, of course. I’d only hoped I could keep him safe for a little longer. That was foolish of me to think, especially considering the way things are right now. He is an adult after all.”

Paul nods, not sure what else he could say.

“The _Discovery_ is lucky to have him.”

“Yes, Admiral, we are,” Paul says humbly.

“Hugh’s always been so good at taking care of others. Please see to it that you’re taking care of him.”

 

~

 

Paul walks into their quarters, still running on the high from _Discovery_ ’s first successful jump (Thanks to their new friend the Tardigrade) when he’s surprised to find Hugh already there, reading something off a PADD as he sits at their dining table.

“I thought you weren’t off until-”

“I excused myself early,” Hugh says shortly, barely glancing up from his reading.

Unsure whether Hugh needs space or comfort, Paul cautiously moves to sit across from him at the table. “I… heard about Commander Landry.”

Hugh nods slightly, still not looking up.

Paul settles back into his chair, trying to be patient. Unlike Paul, who rarely shuts up about it, Hugh rarely, if ever, talks to Paul about incidents at his work. Not that Paul can blame him for not wanting to bring the job home with him, but Paul has yet to figure out just how to handle Hugh when he does.

“Want to talk about it?”

Hugh looks up finally, just long enough to give Paul a visual ‘No’, and sets his PADD aside. He sighs, recentering himself, and changes the subject. “Congratulations on your first successful jump.”

It’s bittersweet, having Hugh use this moment to commend him, but Paul takes it. “Thanks.”

“What was the missing piece?” Hugh asks, almost as though he already knows the answer.

“The… tardigrade,” Paul says guiltily.

Hugh nods, and looks away. Silence falls between them.

“Hugh-”

“It’s not the creature’s fault,” Hugh interjects, reading Paul’s expression before he can finish. “It’s Captain Lorca’s.”

Paul nearly gasps he’s so floored. It’s one thing for _him_ to blame everything on Lorca - it’s basically his new hobby - but for Hugh to voice his displeasure with their captain, even in private, is monumental.

Hugh laughs humorlessly. “Ellen was a good Starfleet officer, and a kinder person before she came to _Discovery_.”

Paul nods, reining in his shock at Hugh’s reaction.

“We’ve watched this war destroy our fleet, ripping families and lives apart, and make every single one of us question our humanities, but Lorca? He feeds on that. It’s changed you, too.” Hugh gazes at Paul sadly for a beat, then his expression darkens again.

“Hugh?”

“Lorca exploited Landry’s devotion to her job and her ship, and used it against her. Her death is on his hands.”

Paul shifts uncomfortably in his chair. While he agrees with Hugh fully, his tone has him shaken.

“I’m sorry,” Hugh sighs, shaking his head. “Forgive me.”

“No,” Paul shakes his head, staring at Hugh intently as he reaches over the table to take Hugh’s hand in his own. “You’re right. This _is_ Lorca’s fault, but you can’t let him break you, Hugh.”

“I could ask the same of you.”

Paul diverts his eyes. It’s no secret that Paul hasn’t had the best of temperaments lately, what with Lorca and the whole of Starfleet breathing down his neck over the Spore Drive, and the _Glenn_ being destroyed, along with Straal, but he never intended to let any of that get between him and Hugh. “I’m sorry.”

Hugh turns his palm over to take hold of one of Paul’s hands, lacing their fingers together. “I know,” he says softly, sincerely.

They linger for a moment, at a loss for words, but comfortable in each other’s silence.

When Paul looks up again to meet Hugh’s gaze, a slightly mischievous smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t I hear that it was Landry who once drank you and three other medical cadets under a table at the Academy?”

“Oh, god,” Hugh grimaces, embarrassed. “Who told you?”

“Ellen. Who else?” Paul grins.

“We nearly missed an exam the next morning! I thought I was going to die.”

Paul smirks, suddenly struck with an idea. He gestures for Hugh to wait as he jumps up and moves over to their replicator. “What was the culprit?” He asks Hugh over his shoulder.

“Tequila. _Real_ tequila,” Hugh frowns, memories of the hangover that nearly ended his Starfleet career flashing through his head.

Seconds later, Paul comes back to the table and sets down two shot glasses and a bottle of unmarked tequila. “Tonight you’ll have to settle for the replicated version.”

“Paul,” Hugh protests, “We shouldn’t-”

“We are,” Paul insists, pouring a shot and handing it to Hugh.

Hugh shakes his head, laughing as he watches Paul pour his own.

“To Ellen Landry - Daughter, sister, Chief Security Officer of the _USS Discovery_ , and Cadet Destroyer,” Paul smiles, raising his glass.

“To Ellen,” Hugh repeats, fondly. “Who deserved better.”

 

~

 

A bottle and a half into Hugh’s grandfather’s “good wine” collection, Paul, who’s clearly the more intoxicated one between the two of them, turns to Hugh suddenly.

“I can’t imagine life without you,” Paul says, his face more serious than it should be for such a realization.

“Are you attempting to be romantic,” Hugh squints into his glass. “If so, you’re going to need to adjust your tone. You sound worried.”

“I am worried,” Paul nods, sounding urgent.

Hugh can’t help but laugh. “About what?”

“About a future without you in it.”

“It’s usually a good sign for a relationship if you’re not conceptualizing how and if we’ll break up, Paul.”

Paul shakes his head slowly. “But I’ve never felt like this before.”

“How do you feel?”

“Overtly optimistic.”

Hugh smiles. “Once again, I’m having a very difficult time seeing how this is an issue.”

“What if something goes wrong? What if you wake up one day, and you can’t stand me anymore.”

“Out of nowhere?” Hugh raises an eyebrow. “I’d probably need to have my head checked for trauma.”

“What if it wasn’t overnight. What if-“

“Paul.”

“Things can’t last forever,” Paul states matter-of-factly.

Hugh sighs, setting his wine glass on the coffee table. “You can’t prepare for the worst, Paul.”

“I have before, _Hugh_.”

“Did it make it easier?”

“Absolutely not,” Paul frowns, finishing the rest of his wine and grabbing the bottle off the table.

Hugh carefully plucks the wine bottle from Paul’s hands and places it in his lap, ignoring Paul’s protest. “Then why does being optimistic worry you so much?”

“Because you could die, and I can’t imagine living on without you.”

“That _is_ romantic… and also morbid, but Paul, you have to know that you’re statistically more likely to die first, and that’s just based on your eating habits alone,” Hugh smirks, not unkindly.

“It's all a part of my plan,” Paul grins, pushing away more of his anxiety as he takes the bottle back from Hugh.

“Making sure I outlive you?”

“Yes,” Paul says firmly, taking a drink of wine directly from the bottle.

Hugh rolls his eyes. “Oh, because I should have to be the one alone?”

“Because of the two of us you’re the most functional.”

“I can’t deny that,” Hugh laughs, shaking his head.

“Hugh,” Paul says, more serious again. “Please don’t die.”

Hugh gently guides the wine bottle away from Paul’s mouth. “Only if you promise me you’ll try harder to do the same.”

Paul’s face twists into a pained expression. “I suppose I could… try. For you. Maybe.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part I am most proud of, so if you'd like to validate me further I'm not going to complain. The next and final part will be posted AFTER the finale so we all have time to process, and I can decide whether or not I'm going to riot. See you on the other side!


	5. Part V - Hericium Erinaceus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lion's Mane.

**Part V - Hericium erinaceus (Improve memory, boost concentration, protect nervous system)**

****

It’s muscle memory that leads Paul to his quarters after leaving the bridge. There’s so much work left to do (Admiral Cornwell made sure he knew that), but Paul hasn’t even had a second to breathe since he woke up, so now he’s standing in his cold, empty room wondering how a place that once felt like a sanctuary now feels suffocating.

“Computer. Open a personal log file,” Paul says, attempting to distract himself from the silence as he unzips his uniform jacket and slips it off his shoulders.

“Lieutenant Stamets, personal log, stardate 1834.2.” He takes a deep breath. “Today we terraformed a _fucking_ moon.”

The glory of it all washes over him as he remembers. “Shit, Straal, if you could have seen- You should have seen it. The visual was so much better than we could have even dreamed.”

Paul can’t help but laugh.

“I would have loved to have seen the look on your face as you realized just how wrong you were. I only wish… I wish I could.”

The memory of the last time Paul saw Straal’s mangled body creeps up on him, twisting the remains of whatever momentary spore-related bliss he had left, and settling it in the pit of his stomach.

Paul moves over to the sink and turns on the tap. He splashes his face with water, careful not to look into the mirror. The last thing he wants is another reminder of just how alone he is. He dries off his face quickly, taking care not to linger in anything that might pull him in, and heads to the closet to grab a fresh uniform.

It’s no use, not lingering. Paul’s eyes land on the bed that remains unmade.

“Hugh, I-”

“I forgot to make the bed, again, didn’t I?” Paul asks sadly. He can’t imagine Hugh forgetting, even if he wasn’t sleeping well while Paul was unconscious in sickbay. Hugh must not have been in their quarters since the morning before Lorca’s rouge coordinates put Paul into a coma.

_Fix it. Make the bed. It’s what Hugh would want._

“I don’t _really_ know what you want, do I?” Paul’s croaks, frozen, staring at their empty bed. “I can’t because you’re dead. Tyler murdered you.”

“Am I supposed to forgive him? Am I some sort of _monster_ for wanting him to suffer? What would you-” Paul swallows hard, and scowls at the ceiling, clenching his fists at his side.

He shakes his head and drops his gaze to the floor.

“No. No. No, I can’t. I _won’t_ . I don’t give a _fuck_ who he was or _is_ because it was _his_ hands that took you away from me. He’s the reason you’re not here, and I don’t know what you would do.”

Despite his efforts, all of the agony and anger Paul had been keeping at bay breaks free at once. He collapses to his knees at the edge of their bed, clinging at the covers like they are the rope tossed over a cliffs edge to pull him to safety, but he feels his fingers slipping free.

A communicator chirping on the floor next to Paul’s discarded pants pulls him back to the present.

“Shit!” Paul chokes back a sob as he quickly crawls over to answer the call, the communicator chirping again as he flips it open.

“Lieutenant Stamets here.”

“Lieutenant, the party is ready to beam down to the moon to start harvesting samples,” Cadet Tilly’s voice sounds from the other end. “Are you ready?”

“I’m on my way,” Paul says evenly, doing his best to disguise his frustration, hurriedly rushing to get redressed and gain his composure. He snaps the communicator shut as he stands and jams it into his pocket.

“Computer... Delete log entry.”

 

~

 

Hugh stands in their kitchen, halfway through his replicated banana (something he’d never hear the end of from Paul), when he hears the front door open and slam shut. “Next apartment - _modern_ doors,” he mutters under his breath, tossing his banana in the composting bin.

In the front room, Hugh can hear Paul stomping around in a way that explicitly tells him his partner is angry, and is ready to take it out on anyone in his path. Unfortunately for Paul, Hugh is (probably) angrier.

When Paul finally makes his way into the kitchen, Hugh doesn’t give him the chance to speak first. “Where were you last night?”

Hugh’s tone catches Paul completely off guard. The look on Hugh’s face is genuinely inquisitive, but Paul feels more like he’s been caught sneaking in the back window by his mother after a night of teenage debauchery. He’d been so wrapped up in his own anger, he hadn’t even considered Hugh’s feelings.

“The lab. Where the _hell_ else would I be?” It falls out of his mouth before he can stop himself, still running hot from moments ago.

“When you live with someone you tell them when you’re not coming home, so they don’t wait up for you,” Hugh says sternly.

“I didn’t ask you to-”

“I have to shower and get ready for work,” Hugh says, holding up a hand. “If you want to argue, it will have to wait.”

“You’re just going to walk away?” Paul asks, stunned as he watches Hugh escape the kitchen for the bedroom.

“I am,” Hugh calls back, already removing his sweaty running clothes as he heads toward their bathroom.

Paul moves to follow Hugh but stops, choosing to stew in his own frustration for a while longer. His eyes catch something yellow hanging out of the lid of their composting bin and he frowns.

“Did you replicate a fucking banana? We can buy bananas!” Paul yells, knowing Hugh can’t hear him, and knowing he’s being ridiculous because he’s exhausted.

He waves a hand over the bin and it opens, allowing him to push the bit of banana peel fully inside. His head tilts to the side as he notices the banana is only half finished. With a sigh, Paul waves the bin closed and trudges over to the replicator.

In their bathroom, Hugh turns on the water and steps in the shower. While it’s not the right thing to do, walking away from an argument, Hugh knows that if he engages Paul when he’s like this he might take longer to calm down, and Hugh can’t afford to be late. In reality, Hugh knew Paul was in his lab last night, It wasn’t difficult for him to check, but Paul both neglected to tell Hugh and purposely ignored his messages, which made it more difficult to be understanding.

Paul tiptoes into the bathroom and sets a freshly replicated banana on the bathroom counter, a weak attempt at extending Hugh an olive branch.

Hugh sees Paul enter through the textured, fogged up glass of the shower and sighs. “Paul.”

“You know that proposal Straal and I made a while back? The one Starfleet turned down?” Paul asks, leaning back against the counter as he focuses his gaze on the towel rack in across from him.

Hugh nods at first before he realizes Paul can’t see him very well. “I remember.”

“Well, now they’ve changed their tune.”

Hugh looks over at Paul through the glass, confused. “But… isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It _was_ ,” Paul agrees, “But things have changed.” He rubs a tired hand across his forehead, trying his best to stave off the remnants of his anger and get through their conversation.

“They’ve been building not one, but _two_ vessels with drive systems based on our spore research for three months, unbeknownst to us,” Paul scoffs, “Probably waiting to see if they could recreate our results without us, but ultimately realizing _that_ wouldn’t be possible.” His expression saddens as he turns to face Hugh. “Now that they see the _weapon_ potential of mycelial network travel… “ His gaze falls to the floor. “They’re splitting us up. I ship out with the _USS Discovery_ in two weeks.”

Hugh hopes Paul can’t see the exact moment his heart shatters in his chest. _They’re splitting us up?_ The double meaning isn’t lost on Hugh. “I’m so sorry, Paul.”

Paul looks up to meet Hugh’s eyes, a mixture of guilt and worry on his brow.

Hugh opens the shower door with a heavy sigh. “Then maybe we should be making the most of the time we have, don’t you think?” With a gesture of his head, Hugh indicates he’d like Paul to join him.

Paul obliges, quickly removing his clothes and tossing them aside before stepping into the shower with his partner.

Hugh moves to let Paul stand under the water for a moment, watching him thoughtfully as he relaxes under the stream. When Paul finally opens his eyes to look back at Hugh, a smirk tugs at the corners of Hugh’s lips.

“What?” Paul smiles.

“Do you know why I _really_ brought you in here?” Hugh asks, raising an eyebrow.

Paul glances down at the bar of soap Hugh just reached for in his hand. “Not for sex, I’m guessing?”

“You smell awful, Paul,” Hugh laughs, handing over the bar of soap.

“I was up all night!” Paul retorts indignantly.

“And whose fault it that?” Hugh smiles, shaking his head.

“Starfleet’s.”

Hugh’s smile fades as the desperation becomes more clear in Paul’s expression. He reaches out, his hands searching their way across his partner’s upper body, seeking a place to provide comfort.

Paul diverts his eyes, the thought of leaving too overwhelming to bear.

Slowly, Hugh turns Paul around and takes the soap back. He begins to wash Paul’s back, neck, and shoulders, gently at first, but with more purpose as he goes on.

“I don’t want to leave,” Paul frowns.

“I know,” Hugh says softly, resting his chin on Paul’s shoulder. “At least… we have two weeks.” Saying it out loud felt like a death sentence.

Paul shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s not enough.” He turns back to face Hugh pulling him close. “How could that be enough?”

This time, Hugh knows Paul can see his heart breaking. “I know,” he says softly, defeated.

For a moment, all they can do is stare into each other’s eyes, both clinging as best they can to the last shred of hope between them.

It takes all of Hugh’s willpower to resist what could come next. “I have to go to work.”

“Right.” Paul lets go of Hugh with a sigh, pushing down his disappointment as he leans back against the shower wall. _Duty calls_.

“But I’ll see you tonight,” Hugh confirms, tilting his head as he tries to get Paul to look at him.

Paul nods a little, giving Hugh only a quick glance. _Starfleet brought us together, so it’s fitting they should tear us apart._

Hugh places a palm against Paul’s neck as he drops a quick kiss to his cheek, his hand lingering a moment longer as he pulls back. “Get some sleep.”

Paul looks up as Hugh steps out of the shower, and moves to follow him. “Take that. You didn’t finish your other one,” he says, peeking out the door and pointing to the banana he’d left for him.

Hugh laughs lightly as he dries himself off, and hangs up his towel. He gives Paul one last quick kiss before picking up the banana. “I love you, too. See you tonight.”

 

~

 

Paul wakes to the sound of his communicator chirping on the nightstand beside him, and it takes him a moment to register that the light pouring into the windows is that of Alpha Centauri and not of Earth. He rolls over onto his stomach with a groan, reaches out to grab his communicator, and flips it open.

“Hello?”

“ _Hello_?!” Straal responds from the other end, annoyed. “Paul, where the fuck are you? Our transport leaves in twenty minutes, and if you don’t make it you’ll miss our proposal.”

Paul’s vision comes into focus as he glances at the time on his communicator. “Shit!”

He tosses the communicator aside, not bothering to close it, and jumps out of bed, looking around the room frantically for his discarded clothing.

“Leaving so soon?” Hugh asks from the doorway of his bathroom, naked from having just finished a shower, with his eyebrow arched in judgement.

“Where the fuck are my pants?” Paul says to himself, not yet noticing Hugh.

Hugh sets his wet towel aside, and walks over to pluck Paul’s pants off of a lamp. “You mean these?

Paul looks up from the floor for the first time and meets eyes with Hugh. His mouth falls open as memories of their escapades from the night before come flooding back at full force.

Hugh smirks as he hands Paul’s pants to him. “You aren’t trying to sneak out, are you? If you are you’re doing a terrible job at the _sneaking_ part.”

Paul drags his hands down his face, trying his best to keep his focus up on _Hugh’s_ face. “I’m so sorry. I’m late for my transport back to Starbase 4, and my research partner is going to kill me.”

Hugh nods, disappointed, but not surprised.”There’s a transporter pad one block over. You’ll make it.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Paul sighs, relieved as he makes quick work of dressing himself. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Hugh smiles.

Paul glances up from tying boots, giving Hugh a tortured look as he allows himself one final look. “Why do you have to look like this now?”

Hugh laughs. “Should I put something on for you?”

“Yes- I mean, no!” Paul almost whines. “God, you’re fucking hot.”

Hugh laughs again. “Go. I don’t want you to miss your ride on account of me.”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say.” Paul looks almost sad.

Hugh smiles. “So you’re saying you want to see me again.”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

Hugh grins bashfully. “Look me up.”

“I will! Wait… what’s your name again?”

Hugh raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “I seem to recall you having no difficulty remembering it last night.”

“Last name! Fuck- _Hugh_ , right? Do you want me to just... search the database for every Hugh in Starfleet?”

“You could,” Hugh shrugs.

Paul holds back a frustrated sigh, channeling it into the stuck zipper on his jacket.

“Culber. Dr. Hugh Culber.”

Paul freezes. “Wait, _Culber_ … as in _Admiral Culber_?”

“She is my mother, yes,” Hugh sighs.

Paul rolls his eyes. “Fuck me.”

“Gladly,” Hugh smirks, “but you need to go.”

“ _Fuck_!” Paul throws on his coat. “Yes.” He zips it up. “Right.” And tosses his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll find you!”

Without another word, Paul rushes out of the room towards the front door.

Hugh stands for a moment blinking, in shock. He shakes his head a little, shrugging off his confusion, as he moves to get himself dressed.

Before Hugh can finish pulling his shirt over his head, Paul rushes back into the room, dropping his bag onto the floor with a thunk. “I fucked that up,” he mutters just before pulling Hugh into a deep, filthy kiss.

Hugh feels his balance sway as he falls into the kiss, letting himself get lost in Paul’s mouth. Paul’s hand is inches from Hugh’s ass when Hugh stops him. “Go. Now. Else I’ll never let you leave.”

Paul gives Hugh as smug grin as he pulls out of their kiss, and steps backwards. “See you soon, _Doctor_ Hugh Culber.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took much longer than I expected it to, but yaaaaaay it's done! I'm gonna go cry with relief now. Thanks to Kay for beta'ing. Like, comment, and subscribe to my channel.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grifola Frondosa.

_ Hope. _

It’s not exactly scientific.

It’s definitely not any sort of hypothesis.

Believing that something could happen, something he wants to happen? This isn't Paul.

_ Hugh  _ **_is_ ** _ dead. Hugh  _ **_isn’t_ ** _ gone. _

He hasn’t been going to grief counseling like he’s been instructed to do. Not more than once, at least. It’s impossible for Paul to explain to someone how he feels right now, and he doesn’t see the point in trying.

Besides, it’s not as though he can tell anyone that it was Hugh himself who had informed Paul of his own passing while also possibly being the only reason he woke up from his coma, if that’s even what really happened.

(Paul tries not to dwell on the things he can’t explain, lest he fall deep into an existential crisis he’s not sure he could find his way out of, so he lets the memory of his spore-induced encounter exist just outside of reality. It’s safer there, really.)

 

~

 

The last Starfleet doctor Paul encountered on Earth was eager (maybe a little too eager) to remove his Spore Drive interfacing cybernetic enhancements, as if taking them out could somehow erase the damage that had already been done. Paul was, regardless of how it had benefited the war effort, an illegal eugenics experiment. Removing the evidence of his physical connection to his work wouldn’t change that, even if they also could somehow remove all traces of the tardigrade DNA that had made it all possible.

(Paul may have also been slightly too combative with said doctor over the status enhancements, especially for someone trying to be cleared for active duty, but fortunately for Paul, this doctor assumed he was simply living up to his reputation of being an asshole.)

Starfleet’s message to Paul was clear enough as is, what with preventing further use of  _ Discovery _ ’s perfectly functional Spore Drive, so removing Hugh’s only physical contribution to Paul’s research seemed wholly unnecessary and not at all justifiable. Just because he isn’t allowed to use the drive doesn’t mean he should lose the ability to, especially with the possibility of encountering a life or death situation deep in the furthest reaches of space.

They gave Paul Hugh’s medal, so why shouldn’t he be attached to the last thing Hugh had given to him?

 

~

 

“Computer, play stored voice messages from Doctor Hugh Culber, starting with the oldest first,” Paul speaks to the room the second the door closes behind him in his quarters.

It’s unhealthy, Paul knows, playing these messages over and over, falling asleep to them. He doesn’t care.

(He avoids the video messages though. Something about them makes it easier to lose himself in them. It’s too close. Too familiar. Too alive.)

“First message. Received on stardate 10… “

Paul’s heard them so many times he has them memorized, closing his eyes to imagine how Hugh looked recording them. He lies down on his bed, letting himself drift off into a light sleep.

A jarring, scrambled sound snaps him awake. He sits up abruptly.

“Computer, stop playback.”

Silence falls as the sound is cut off.

“Computer, was that message corrupted?”

“Negative.”

“Right, but I listened to these messages this morning, and the playback was fine,” Paul says, feeling his chest tighten as he starts to panic.  _ They cannot be corrupted. _

“Negative.”

“Excuse me?”

“You did not listen to this message this morning.”

Paul squints. “How?”

“This message was delivered three hours ago.”

Paul’s heart stops, his eyes widening. “Computer, can you identify the source of this message?”

“Unknown.”

“But this message was delivered as being from Doctor Hugh Culber?”

“That is correct.”

“Computer, play back the message again from the beginning.”

Paul listens closer this time but still can’t make sense of it. Nothing even sounds close to a voice, let alone a tone he recognizes.

“Computer,” he shouts over the audio, “Can you isolate any part of the message?”

“Working,” the voice of the Computer chimes back, momentarily stopping the playback.

When the message starts to play again, Paul gasps. All around him plays a distorted, but recognizable aria from Hugh’s favorite Kasseelian opera.

Paul laughs deliriously as exalted tears stream down his face. He listens to the message three more times before his brain can catch up to his emotions. He knows what he has to do now.

“Computer, transfer this file to my work station in engineering, and encode to my voice print only. Lieutenant Commander Paul Stamets, security code Beta three five seven.”

_ I’ll find you, Hugh. _

 

~

 

**Hope.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!

**Author's Note:**

> This series will be in 5 parts, so stay tuned. Feedback is always appreciated. Fight- er, find me on tumblr as cerebrosbeforehoes and twitter as thericketandoo. Thanks for coming!


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